Glass Dollhouse
by curi0usCanine
Summary: A certain speedster pays his mother a long-overdue visit.


The front door slammed open, jostling- but not quite overturning- the delicate vase sitting upon the side table just inside the hall. It shut again, just as violently, but still nothing was broken. Loud, demanding footsteps stomped hard against the floor, soft rubber soles not even scuffing the sheen of the lacquer, although the muck on the boots did leave a bit of a mess.

The owner of the boots stopped just short of the clean carpet of the sitting room- really just a glorified extension of the dining room, but the distinction had been drilled into him early and firmly. The woman at the other end sat, sipping from her tea and giving the youth a lukewarm gaze. Her smile sat primly on her cheeks, not a strand of fur or a single quill on her head ever out of place.  
She waited for him to speak, sensing there was something that the sloppy-looking boy in her doorway wanted to say.

"So you did it?" His voice was soft, not quite accusing- only stating a fact.

"Well, I poisoned him, yes. He probably would have survived that drop without it. Your father always was a strong swimmer." She put her teacup down with barely a clink onto the pristine china saucer it belonged to- china, where does anyone get that kind of high quality porcelain these days?- and turned her gaze back to him. "But I don't understand why you're bringing this up now. You already own the planet, don't you?"

He sneered at her, the heavy iron weighing his lowered brow even more severely. "Yeah, I do. Which is why you're gonna tell me exactly the reason you let me think I did the old fart in all this time."

She let out a soft, demure laugh. The condescension in the action set his blood to boiling with how in-control it sounded. Like it didn't matter he'd thrown the previous king into the Zone of Silence. Like it didn't matter that he ruled all of Mobius with an iron fist.

"Because I would have been arrested, of course. You might have been able to get away with claiming accidental death, but concealing treason? Well, poison would have been a much kinder fate than the sentence they give for something so scandalous."

He gave her a confused look.

"Oh, don't give me that. You're more clever than you look, my son. Your late father was getting a conscience over your uncle's failed treason- I couldn't have that tarnish our good name, could I?"

"You… What?" His voice was incredulous, eyes widening with a lack of understanding. "Treason? Uncle Basement-Dweller himself? All he cared about was that project- the robo-whatever. He could care less about politics!"

"Name calling isn't nice, Ogilvie." She smoothed out her skirt.

"It's _Scourge_ ," The boy seethed through his teeth. "Don't make me say it twice."

"Or what? You'll 'kill' me like you think you 'killed' your father? Don't make me laugh. You never had the guts to do it on purpose. Or did you forget?" Her tone never faltered from that even, near-conversational lilt. The curve of her mouth flickered with hidden amusement, but perfectly held up that image of poise that she so loved to put on. "The way you came crying to me that night? _'I didn't mean to, it was an accident I swear!'_ You were a mess." She smoothed out her skirt.

His hands clenched at his sides, jaw grinding his sharp teeth… but he didn't move. "You're not worth the dog shit off my boots."

" _Language_ , Ogilvie. If you're going to play at being King you'd better remember your manners."

"Or what?" The younger's voice mimicked hers with surprising accuracy. "You'll ground me? You and I both know you haven't given a damn about me in years."

She stood up, and against his will he found him taking a step back, even after he'd gone through all the effort to become strong, even knowing that he could snap her neck in a split-second if he wanted to- she stood up and towered over him like she always had, all perfect posture and carefully composed. Almost doll-like. Certainly unlike any normal mobian he'd ever known. He was almost two inches taller, and she still seemed larger than any brute he'd beaten in battle. "I'm surprised at you. I thought at least you'd understand that I still love you, even despite your…" her smile twitched, just for a moment, "Quirks." One ungloved hand reached out, barely close enough to brush against he fur of his cheek, like she was going to caress it; he slapped the hand away.

"Love? What do you know about love?"

"All mothers know about love, sweetie. I'd do anything for this family, and you should know it well."

" _Mothers_ don't _frame_ their sons for _MURDER_!" His voice raised, cracking on the last word like thin glass under a boot.

"You could hardly be raised by a pair of parents rotting in jail together, now could you? How would you have liked to stay with your _dear_ Uncle if he were a _corpse_ in the ground? If your father had told the authorities that his brother had tried to stage a coup, they would have killed him and kept us away from your for keeping it a secret so long! The man threw out that Overlander just to get closer to the king, for Chaos' sake." Her smile was gone, as was her paper-thin veneer of pleasantness. The cold mettle of her true nature shone through like a blade directed straight at his throat, and it took all of the strength the boy had to keep his chin turned up to her in defiance. "You'll understand if and when you ever bother to _grow up_ , Ogilvie Maurice." The line of her lips were straight as a rod, allowing for no foolishness whatsoever. "Go play with your friends, if you must. But your father and I raised you to be someone _important_. You should do well to keep in mind _what_ , exactly, we taught you."

She reached out. She reached out and he _flinched_ , pulling away from her hand just too-late as she touched the collar of his jacket, tugging it straight and folding it back down. He held still, a thick lump of fear in his throat as he held stock still and pretended that it was he who was letting her do this, and not the other way around. "At the very least," and her voice grew honey-sweet again, a slender finger tilting his chin up to meet her gaze, "You should look presentable."

He scowled up at her, wanting to pull away with every fiber of his being, but the hand on his shoulder kept him as motionless as if he'd been rooted to the ground with cement. "My name," he said, "is Scourge. I already told you." The boy's voice was pathetically subdued.

"And a year ago it was Sonic. It's a phase, my little angel, you'll grow out of it." Her hand left his shoulder.

Though he wanted to run as far away and as quickly as possible, he forced himself to stay still just a moment longer. Prove that he wasn't as malleable as she thought he was. "Stay out of my way," was all he could manage to say without choking up or withering under her gaze. He turned on his heel, shoulders back and posture as perfect as hers was before he remembered himself and forced a cool, uncaring slouch.

He left through the front door, knocking down the vase on the side table just by it and relishing in the sound the perfect china made as it shattered against polish hardwood flooring.


End file.
